A/N: Hey, what's up? Nothing here except that this is my newest story and you should read it. It's probably be done before, but i thought that i would give it a try anyways. In this Prologue, i have changed the way that Erik became deformed to better fit my story. sorry if you don't like it, but oh well. anyhoo, please read and review! oh, and if you ever see any spelling or grammatical errors, please let me know!
My Dearest Daughter:
Happy 16th birthday, my darling baby girl! I regret never having said those words to you before, and I hope that this letter will explain why. About 17 years ago I met a man by the name of Erik LeRoux in Paris. We were young, and thought we were in love. Before we got married, however, I became pregnant with you, and my family was very upset. They disowned me, and Erik and I were forced to move in with each other immediately. He was a composer, and therefore did not make much money so I too had to find a job. I became employed at a nearby bookstore which brought in just enough money for us to live on. Then, when I was nearly six months pregnant a tragic accident occurred. I was waiting in the bookstore for your father to take me home, when a candle tipped over and the whole building caught fire. Erik arrived and promptly rushed in to save me. Sadly, as he carried me out, a burning piece of wood fell from the eaves and hit his face. The accident terribly deformed the entire right side of his face and left him feeling very depressed and unworthy of me. One day, when I was nearly due to have you, I came home to find no sign of him but a note explaining that he had left me, and that I deserved better. I searched for days but could not find him, and had to eventually give up. Then, you were born. You looked so much like Erik that I could hardly bare to look at you. The reason I gave you up was because I knew that living with me you would never have nice things or a nice life. Please try to understand my love that I was only doing what was in your best interest. Please find it in your heart to forgive me, and know that I always loved you.
Love Your Mother,
P.S. Should you so wish to seek out your father, try to find a woman by the name of Madame Antoinette Giry. I believe that she works at the Opera Populaire in Paris.